The Switch
by jack63kids
Summary: Follow up to the Other Woman. Dr Watson's fiancée has gone missing and no one seems that bothered about trying to find her. He has received several warnings about her past but he is more concerned about getting her home safely than whether she is who she says she is. Some scenes of violence and torture. Added some 'aftermath' as it was all too cosy after what went down. 4JAL
1. Missing Presumed

**_This Story is based on the character from 'the Other Woman', that might be Dr Watson's future wife, or not. I'm leaving it vague, so don't name her, Daphne du Maurier style._**

* * *

**Chapter 1: ****_Missing presumed_**** ...**

I know that something's happened to her, she'd not go anywhere without her MacBook ... and hardly any of her clothes are missing ... and she'd not go anywhere without telling me. I reported her missing to Lestrade. He took all the details, but I intercepted the look between him and Sherlock over my head. _I may be an idiot, Sherlock, but I'm not a fool_!

The police were obviously going to do nothing and begging Sherlock to investigate wasn't getting me anywhere. He kept saying to leave it with him, but was obviously working on the new cases that came in and not doing anything to find her. Mycroft was more hopeful, at least at first - I swallowed my pride there and was going to walk on coals, go on bended knee, anything it took, but found I didn't need to.

"Very old friend of the family. Her father saved my life more than once. Would have done so without you asking ... was already onto it as it happens ..."

He was less satisfying to talk to on the occasions when I asked about progress, however, and gave the impression that it was breaking the official Secrets Act to talk about it at all with me. His driver stopped the car on my last visit and his assistant, the one I'd once found so attractive before I'd met 'her', spoke to me frankly - "You know she's bad news, Dr Watson! Even the CIA had their suspicions when she was working for them. People she was investigating suddenly disappearing ... dropping dead ... happened too many times to be coincidence ... think about it, is this someone you need in your life? ... you'd never know what she was up to ... and Mycroft is stringing you along, keeping you quiet ... think about it, Doctor ... just think about it..."

I didn't bother to ask Mycroft again after that.

Two weeks and more - I can tell you to the second, though you'll think I'm as touched as they all do - had gone by and Sherlock was unmovable, despite some lengthy petitions on my part. And then he went away to Germany for nearly a week on another case ... sometimes he can be the most heartless man on the planet - sometimes - ha!

While he was gone I got a steady round of calls and the unexpected, '_I was just in the neighbourhood, so thought I'd drop by_'s from Molly, Lestrade and even Harry - and now I recall, Mrs Hudson has been popping up with all kinds of excuses the past few days - since when has that very capable widow needed anyone else to lift something off a high shelf or take the rubbish out? It's as if someone had orchestrated them to keep an eye on me.

Sherlock was still immersed in his case on his return and refused to discuss any of it with me. Then when she'd been gone for just over two months and we'd still had no news of her, I was sat at her MacBook one day pretending to look for something inconsequential for one of Sherlocks' new cases, but actually scrolling through her files looking for anything that might lead me to her. The Skype bleeped and her name came up on the screen - doubly odd as this was her laptop. I was too stunned to move and then I was aware of Sherlock over my shoulder, pressing buttons and then there she was, sitting well back from the screen on a high-backed chair.

She had on more make-up than I have ever seen her wearing before and smart clothes, not her usual grunge look - she looked stunning, but not really herself, like an older and more serious sister. I thought at first she was wearing a wig, but it seemed to be her own hair, a little longer, professionally streaked and styled in a neat and businesslike manner that was so unlike her usual look.

Her head was turned slightly downwards and to her right, but she was looking right at me with a blank gaze, which could be distain or indifference, it was hard to tell.

"Call off the dogs, Doc!" she said. So we were back to Doc then.

I swallowed hard, "What do you mean? Are you alright? Where are you?"

She sounded weary now. "I'm fine ... I'm not coming back ... call off Mycroft's people, Doc ... and your boys too, Sherlock!" her eyes flicked over my shoulder to where Sherlock was standing "... there's no point in putting out a missing person call for someone who's not missing and doesn't want to be found ..."

I couldn't understand what I was hearing. Last time we'd met we'd become engaged - we'd been in love - hugely, achingly in love - or at least I had ... so what was different now. If I'd thought that the pain of her disappearance was immense, this was excruciating but I wasn't about to accept it like that. "Why? What's happened? When are you coming back?"

"Sherlock not told you about my past yet then? Sure that was more to save your feelings than to preserve any fond memory he has of me - well, you need to ask your friend a few more questions and take a little less crap from him ... remember I told you Mrs Wong's previous profession? Well, my little 'gap year' was nearer _four_ years ... yes, that does make me a bit older than I'd said, woman's prerogative to lie about her age ... well, I worked for her for a fair percentage of that time. And when I wasn't - and sometimes when I was - I was using all the weapons in a woman's armory to bring down some of the people who just might have been responsible for my parent's death - I expect death was a blessed release after I'd finished with their reputations and their family relationships ... some of the wives were impressively imaginative in their revenge, but never so much as the mistresses ...

"Acting was my first choice of career before my parents died, by the way. I could have _been_ Keira Knightley, or so I'm told. I don't just do the little girl lost or crazy young adventurous - I do a good line in Irene-style dominatrix too, high-powered business woman ... smart brunette, fiery redhead, ditzy blonde ... I speak a dozen languages and dialects, can do a fairly passible Russian, American, Korean, you name it ... accent. When you next see Irene, Sherlock, tell her I've nicked that 'naked introduction' thing she does - might amuse her. Very effective in the right settings ...

"I've worked for the CIA, MI5, MI6, the KGB and other organisations that don't even have names they are so secret. I've never been a card carrying member of any of them - prefer being my own girl, set my own agenda. I've infiltrated multinationals, crime syndicates, the Triad, the KKK even, once. My grandfather was in the business, head of a crime syndicate in his day in Albania - impressive pedigree - doesn't take much to convince some of them."

I was incredulous - not that I didn't believe half of what she was saying. "I don't care", I said. "Just come back, come home ... to me."

She grimaced slightly. "Have you not got it yet, Doc? No, I guess not - nice guys judge other people on their own standards ... and I'm not into nice guys ... not when they get serious and it's no fun anymore ... I was never one for being cosseted ... though it was fun up until then, I'll give you that much."

"Why did you do it? Why just disappear after saying you'll marry me? Why say it if you didn't mean it?"

There was a heart stopping silence and then she said, "What difference does it make? It makes none ... That one's for you, Sherlock ... You'll have to check the rest yourself ..."

Sherlock spoke for the first time. "I don't need to, I remember. Message received. The curse of perfect recall is remembering verbatim trivia best forgotten."

There was a long silence while they eyed each other. I felt the two of them were talking in code and that my broken heart was so far removed from their orbit that they weren't aware I was still there.

"_I don't believe you_!" I almost shouted, standing up to lean closer to the screen. She recoiled slightly and then recovered herself and, leaning forward, she picked up something that was on the table next to the laptop she was now using.

"Maybe you'll believe this," she said, looking suddenly animated, angry, but more alive than before, and was holding up a ring between two fingers. "See what this is?" she asked. I nodded - my engagement ring - and she threw the little ring in the air and caught it in her left hand. "Open window behind me - on the thirteenth floor here - and this is how much I care ..." and she tossed it behind her still staring blank-faced into the screen in front of her and then leant towards me for a moment as if to kiss me ... then the screen went blank and she'd gone.

"Sherlock, what did she mean? What's going on? There's a heap you're not telling me and you can start with '_what difference does it make_'."


	2. Sherlock on the Case

**Chapter 2: ****_Sherlock on the Case_**

Sherlock was not listening and was fiddling with her MacBook. And then there she was again sitting stock still in the same position. I moved to talk to her again, but Sherlock waved me to silence and I realised that he'd not got her back, but a still, recorded from our conversation ...

"Where would you say she is?" he muttered so I wasn't sure he was talking to me, clicking the action slowly forwards as he spoke.

I hesitated, and Sherlock prompted me with a gesture. "Er, in a hotel ... looks like a hotel, somewhere hot judging by her clothing and moisture on her face ... and it's dark there, late night, have to work out the time difference ..."

"Nothing else? That all, John? You know my methods, can you apply them now?"

"I wasn't really looking at her surroundings. Oh, there's a storm going on in the background, you can see the odd flash - there! - oh no, it's more likely bombings, I've seen that kind of flash before - it's mortar fire. Syria again maybe, the Lebanon, I'm behind on current affairs, not sure where's having trouble right this moment, could check the news ..."

"Good! - thinking right - deductions all wrong ..." he mumbled.

Sherlock manipulated the screen until he had the heavily curtained window up large in front of us, studying hard some detail that eluded me. "Ah, ha! he exclaimed, now that's very interesting ..."

And I got no more sense out of him for a long while ...

"John, did you make it into her bedroom that last night?"

"What on earth has it to do with ... what business is it ... oh for heaven's sake, Sherlock, that wasn't her flat ... why on earth would you ask. Furnishings all wrong - window and door would have been round the other way anyway, even if they did look anything alike ..."

Sherlock was obviously having one of those eureka moments ... Now what did I say that's so interesting?

And then the mysterious Sherlock questions ... "Did you not notice anything odd about her face?"

"Well, sure - she's never worn that much muck on her face when I've been around ..."

"No, no no, her smile being all wrong ... eyes ... squinty thing she does with the right - did you seriously not notice and this is a woman you profess to want to look at ... honestly ... and someone right handed catching with the left without looking, have to toss it accurately out the window ... maybe she can, I'd not put it past her, but she was delivering a message ... one she knew that one of us would spot ... one who's watched her every move for months and one who pays attention to the details ..."

Sherlock clicked some more buttons on the screen and the screen window rotated so that left became right and right-left. And then I did see. Not all the oddness about her look was to do with her attire. She'd been a mirror image all this time.

"I need to go round there ... wasted far too much time ... right away ... where's your copy of her key? Don't worry, top inside pocket of your jacket, where you'd thought I'd not notice ... That little bulge changes shape, of course I'd be interested enough to wonder what was there. And there's no point in pretending you've a sudden addiction to chewing gum when you have a receipt for an expensive jewellers 'hidden' in your wallet, asking to be interpreted ... Much better to hide something from me by not hiding it all - no challenge there, I'd be less likely to bother. Wouldn't have given a jeweller's box a second glance." Sherlock was rushing around the room, picking up bits, throwing on his coat, shoes as he spoke and then we were out the door.

When we arrived at her flat, Sherlock stopped me from walking in first until he'd surveyed the room and then did his annoying thing of asking unanswerable questions about details that I couldn't possible have known. Where was this chair, had the bed always been in this position - and shouting when I disturbed any dust or leant on a wall ... He was annoyed that she didn't have carpets - even I realised that was to see if anything had been moved - and then pleased that she didn't have carpets as then whoever moved anything would know where exactly to put them back. He got excited about some tiny smudge marks on the floor under the bed and was beside himself when he found one of the hooks on the curtains wasn't attached and a spare loop on the curtain-rings that was unused. I could hear him muttering about her being good on details and laughing to himself. I do wish Sherlock wouldn't find my personal disasters so entertaining.

When I asked what it all meant, the most he would say was "All in good time, my dear friend," and hummed to himself, something that sounded familiar and I later realised she'd sung some months ago.

I badgered Sherlock mercilessly after that though the only part he dropped to me was that the message she gave to him was the lyrics of a song and then I remembered where I'd first heard the tune that Sherlock kept humming. At those times when I wasn't in a completely fug, listening to the track over again, I kept up a relentless attack on Sherlock to find out more. "What did she mean 'because you asked me to', Sherlock? What did you ask her to do?"

He finally broke one afternoon some days later - "Why did you think I involved you in a non-case and insisted you spend so much time together exactly, John? Since when have I even played cupid or encouraged any of your past dalliances?"

"I though that you liked her - I _know_ that you did, Sherlock - you've never let anyone in like you did her - not even me! Now what are you getting at. What was it all about then?"

"She worked for me, while continuing to appear to work for Moriarty. We knew what he was up to and put on a fine piece of acting - she wasn't kidding about her acting ability - to flush him out and put him off his guard. In the meantime, it was easy to foil his plans with the Koreans. Heard of any nasty international incidents recently!? Not that one at any rate - scotched that, good work on her part I might add. Shame she's not on the team now, could do with her good brain ... and disregard of her own personal safety."

"How can you say that, after what she's done to me, Sherlock - other friends would have at got me drunk, taken me to a strip club, bitched about the ex a little - but you rub my face in how wonderful she is - the woman who says I'm too boring to be bothered with, who threw my ring out of the window of a high-rise building!"

"That was a message, a message, John - clever girl! Everything she was telling me was make sure I knew where she was being abducted from. And all that pyrotechnics was a smoke screen so we wouldn't rush over to prevent them taking her."

Sherlock waited for me to catch up. And then I realised, she'd been giving us huge hints and we'd still not got there in time. "Oh no, Sherlock, we let her down big time - she must have been expecting someone to burst through the door and safe her at any moment!"

Sherlock shook his head in exasperation. "No, that's not what she wanted! She wouldn't have wanted risks taken like that and she knew they'd be able to get her out in moments or dispatch her before we got there. That's not the purpose ... Would it help, would it shut you up just a little, to know the truth? What she really felt - feels - about you? Not that I can believe that you haven't got it by now ..."

_Sure, Sherlock, little truth, not a bad thing in most people's books, make a nice change apparently ... hit me with whatever else you've got ... I already know about the brothels, industrial espionage, honey traps, potential murder wraps ... what more harm could there be ... bring it on!_

"Ok, whatever else may be true - and I'm not saying that any of it is ... that woman loves you! She felt something for you from the first moment you met - I watched that touching scene below our window and she kept her hand on your arm for much longer than the socially acceptable limit - longer than she even needed to get you onside. And she certainly hadn't stopped loving you when we just talking right now. Did you not see her what I saw!? And you know I'm not lying - since when have I ever played cupid?"

I glowered at Sherlock and he changed tack slightly. "Ok, I did _then_ - how did I know you'd genuinely fall for her too? She was so different from your usual pick-up - not sophisticated - but what purpose would it serve now with her gone and the case over? I'm telling you now John, before you drive me demented and yourself insane. Trying to trace her has put her life at great risk and other lives - one very dear to her. Take another look at when she leans in to switch off the call. She's very careful not to show her left cheek - looks like the right from our perspective - at any point in the conversation until then. Clever use of make-up - more stage make-up, than Mary Quant - but she couldn't hide that swelling. Sweet of her not to want you to see - don't you see? And the shadow of someone, just for a millisecond, who came forward to threaten her when she mentioned Korea - it's there and gone in a moment, you'd not even notice if her eye hadn't flickered.

"And no we can't rescue her - even to speak to her again would be almost certainly fatal ... for more than one person.

"She has a job to do and she's not coming back until she's done it. And someone to protect, though I wouldn't have thought that her being away is the best way, though she's only just realised ... anyway, she knew what she was doing when she left a bunch of messages and clues in that conversation - I can't begin to tell you how useful it was - but the main one was 'back-off' ... You have to leave it alone, John, or you've as good as put a gun to her head and shot her yourself. She'll be back if she possible can, when it's safe, when she's done what she needs to do. And you have to let her go ... at least for now."

I've worked on many cases with Sherlock, but at least I've felt I've known what the case was about, what we were being asked to solve. With this - I was less certain. Was I asking him to trace a missing person, or was it more that I wanted to know who she was and what her intensions towards me were. It was more of a private eye thing than Sherlock was usually known for - that, or alternatively, a job for MI5.


	3. John's Deliberations

**Chapter 3: ****_John Investigates_**

While I was doing a little snooping of my own around her MacBook files I came across some recordings that she'd made and couldn't resist watching just to hear her sing.

One was the most haunting song I've ever heard which appeared to be about a couple who'd spilt up after a difficult relationship - a single tear drew a line down her cheek as she sang the last line. She then looked up and grinned right into camera - "Oh, that rhythm it catches me out every time. I'd hoped to do that one this Friday ... not ready yet for a public airing."

There was something familiar about the disembodied voice that answered her - "No-one's going to be listening to the rhythm with that amount of angst going on - sounded perfect to me ... sincere ... I'd leave the tears out though if I were you."

"Can't help it, it's so sad it makes me think of him every time - he looks so lost sometimes - When I find out which bitch broke his heart ... can make him look like that ... I shall throttle her!"

"No-one I know of," came the voice which I suddenly placed.

"You still recording? ... oh, turn it off ... turn it off Harry!"

... Now how do they know each other?

* * *

I went to visit Mrs Wong, just trying to find the truth. I didn't trust Sherlock to interpret for me so I found someone through a professional service who turned out to be a woman in her mid 30s who seemed keener to ask me irrelevant questions than to get on with the job at hand. I guess she needed some background to know how to interpret - but it was irritating not to get on with it.

Mrs Wong seemed pleased to see me at first and fussed around getting drinks and snacks, so I was even more impatient to get answers by the time she finally sat down opposite me at her enormous table.

I started by asking her whether you had ever worked for her and she enthusiastically told me how you'd been like a daughter to her and how she'd hoped you'd take over the business when she ready to retire. You'd worked for her for many months in both the Shanghai and the Hong Kong businesses - clients asked for you by name apparently ... my head sank into my hands and I let out a slow groan, on hearing confirmation of my worst fears and that's when Mrs Wong got so angry she started to speak in broken English.

"You lucky you know her - you judge her - you not worthy - she good girl - she pure heart - you think you know, but you judge with impure heart - you lucky to know girl like her ... you judge her on what you think you know, you do not understand, many years before she know you ...

"... she come to you pure - she come pure mind, pure heart, pure soul - all yours ... you dishonour her ... she good as virgin when she come you ... you leave my house ... you come back when you ready to ask right question - you ask right question - I give right truth! You go now! Go now!"

My next conversation, this time with the interpreter was no comfort either. "When you get over this woman - this woman so pure her holiday job is in a brothel - you call me." Then she pushed her card into my jeans pocket before I could refuse.

* * *

After that interview with Mrs Wong I went on a three day bender; at least I think it was was three I've a hazy recollection of those days and no idea what happened to my mobile - if you find it, let me know. I was a social drinker ok, but seldom over imbibed. Watching Harry pickle her own liver turned me off that and I guess I was also concerned about a hereditary propensity to having an addictive personality.

And it was Harry who tried to talk some sense into me when we were both blackening the name of Watson in the same sleazy bar in Hackney. Harry was merciless about what she thought of the state I was in but headed at it Harry-style with as much reverse psychology as she could muster.

When that didn't seem to stop me drinking the conversation continued a little like this:  
Harry (singing): _She's sweet, she's beautiful and she's Bi!_  
John: _Let me get this straight, Harry. You're competing with me over a woman who's not even here. Who's kidnapped, possibly not even still alive-_  
Harry: _Not competing John, but someone needs to be pulling you up. You're not worthy of her in your current state. I may be the alcoholic in the family, but you're the drunk, little brother. And she can chose from pretty well the whole world of people, whereas you are stuck with half of it ... plus one ... oh and minus family members and the ones more interested in me ..._

Harry could be so sanctimonious when she was relatively sober.

That fateful night I stumbled in to find Sherlock was out but had left a bottle of fine old scotch on the sideboard, a thank you present from a satisfied client doubtless. I was four sheets to the wind already and had lost all perspective. Seemed perfectly reasonable at the time to make a start on that bottle, do it justice. By the time that Sherlock showed up I was singing drunk, emotionally and basically a real mess.

It doesn't give me any pleasure to report that evening, what I can remember of my wild ramblings I mean, but think you need the full story. And Sherlock refuses to talk about that night; not because he wishes to protect me from being shown in such a poor light, but because the emotion of the situation appalls him.

"I love her, Sherlock!" I slurred, trying to focus on the figure who was looming over me from the doorway. "I bloody love her, Sherlock!" He seemed taller than usual even and seemed to be able to loom right across the ceiling to my inebriated vision, like he was hovering over my head almost and then further away than the confines of the room would allow. It was quite disconcerting and then I remember hugging the toilet and wondering why Sherlock had disappeared when I most needed him - shouldn't he be holding my hair back or something. And then I was too busy to wonder anything again, again and again. _Oh God!_ And then I felt _really_ bad. She'd managed to get me to stop using that one and my army swearing credentials weren't in regular use since she'd been hanging out at 221B. But she wasn't there, she'd lied to me over and over, so why should I be concerned about her wishes and feelings?

I was vaguely aware that Sherlock was actually in the room, head in hands, perching on the edge of the bath. "Sherlock, she's gone and I love her!" I groaned before another spasm shook my stomach and I tried to stick my whole head into the toilet bowl. "I don't care if she's the ruddy whore of Babylon or Mata bleeding Hari herself. I want her back, Sherlock - get her back for me, whatever it takes!"

I have a vague recollection of Sherlock carrying me into his room, while I continued to confess my love for both of them and I was still rambling while he tucked me in with a washing-up bowl by my head, though there surely couldn't be a single thing left in my stomach. Not gonna need that Sherlock - ok, yeah I do, leave it just there ... "I love you, Sherlock, you know that, you're my best friend ..." The room whirled round again - why can't the bloody thing stay where you put it for a moment. And then I must have gone to sleep, or at least unconsciousness.

Several times when she first went missing, I'd woken in the night to feel her sleeping beside me. I'd been careful after that first time not to put out a hand and disrupt the fantasy of her actually being there. This time I must have been dreaming, though it felt as real as waking up after a night's drinking can, as there was a faint smell of coconuts and her warm, womanly smell and I could hear her voice, "_Oh, John, darling, what have you done to yourself?_" and felt a cool hand touching my fevered skin. I lay very still to keep the illusion that she really was there beside me.

"_Darling, you have to pull yourself together and be strong. I need you to be yourself, your strong and dependable self, not this pathetic wreck of a man you're becoming!_" Harsh!

Now my dreams were telling me off. You can add them to the long list of folks who disapproved of my recent life choices. I could feel, in my sleep, her hand stroking down my back and then the real berating began - who knew my subconscious was such a bully and sounded so much like the love of my life. The voice from my subconscious didn't let up and told me off every which way 'til Tuesday. I guess I had it coming, everyone else had been too busy pussy footing around me making sure I ate and didn't harm myself. This was what I needed; a bloody good chiding.

When I woke, I did actually check the other side of the bed, and though I swear I could still smell the coconut scent of the oil she uses on her skin and hair, there was of course no one there. I keep a small pot of it on my bedside table, so that smell was no more than circumstantial evidence, but a part of me chose to believe that is was tangible evidence that she'd really been there giving me a piece of her mind.

When Sherlock emerged the next morning, I was already in the kitchen knocking back as much water as it's possible to drink without drowning and wondering if a cooked breakfast would be kill or cure. I wasn't going to let a little thing like the love of my life being a whore get me down. I'd lived through worse things and all that counted now was to get her back.


	4. Killed You Much

**Chapter 4: ****_The Long Goodbye_**

The next time her name came up on the screen he was ready - or thought that he was ready - and he pressed the key to enable them to speak immediately this time. But it wasn't her face that was the first he saw. An extremely good looking young man's face was staring right into the camera, giving that odd fish-bowl effect. Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese ... John was going through a list of Oriental faces in his head.

"A message for Mr Sherlock Holmes ..." he said sneeringly and stepped aside to show the most appalling scene that John could have imagined.

She was stood, bend over, with her arms tied behind her back, wearing US army combat dress. She looked thinner than when he'd last seen her. Her hair was matted and her face covered in dirt and what was probably a little dried blood, but John couldn't help notice how beautiful she looked. A soldier was holding her hands up behind her, which was what was forcing her into a crouch, and he was shouting something that John couldn't understand into her face.

"Hello, boys!" she said grinning slightly, looking directly into the camera. John was aware that Sherlock had joined him and was leaning on the arm of the chair to get closer to the screen.

The man next to her was shouting again and then drew his arm back, slamming his fist into the side of her face.

"Thank the Gods!" Sherlock murmured at his shoulder as John screamed something unintelligible at the men who were holding her. She'd been driven to her knees by the impact, but stood straighter to spit out blood and presumably a tooth. John hurled more abuse at the screen.

Then Sherlock spoke again, this time to John. "No point in speaking to them, it's a recording." Sherlock was positively dancing for joy - he always loved a new case, the more turmoil for everyone else the better. John wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face just as hard as they'd seen her punched - but that would have to wait.

And then two of the soldiers were dragging her over to a tank of water and John watched in stunned silence as the inevitable happened. She was chanting something that he caught a few words of: Lord and forgiveness being the two that he was surest of. She didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular nor did she look at the camera while she spoke, so he wasn't able to lipread those that were unintelligible.

"Tell us what he's doing!" the first man said in an ominously quiet voice and then something again in another language. By this time even John had realised that the men were North Korean soldiers, the uniforms, the accents, their distinctive look and he'd remembered something that Sherlock had recently said about North Korea. She grinned again, shaking her head.

And then he had to watch helplessly as the first man grabbed her roughly by the hair and plunged her head into the water face down. He found he was holding his breath and time stood still ... and then he couldn't hold his any longer and took a sharp breath inward relieving his lungs ... and still she was underwater ... and then they let her up and he saw her gasp for air.

"Have to do better than that General," she quipped, "I've older brothers - not much you can do to me that hasn't been done already."

"Killed you much?" said an English voice off camera. Her eyes flicked over the speaker but were devoid of expression.

John was willing her to shut up, tell them something, anything to make it stop, lie, tell them everything she knew about Sherlock, because surely that's who they were asking about. Don't be loyal, don't be loyal ... he willed in her direction.

"The pain of a burst lung would be nothing to the pain of knowing I'm responsible for any harm coming to the man I love!" she said staring brazenly out at her attackers again. And John momentarily weighed up whether knowing that she loved Sherlock, with him as second choice was more painful than watching her being tortured - and he realised there was no real competition - she had to live, she had to be fine, this had to stop, whoever she loved, she just had to be okay.

And they dunked her again and John had to let his breath out before she was allowed up again ... a long time before.

Again they shouted at her in what was presumably Korean and she looked calmer than John could have, and did, in the circumstances, even from the safety of their living room. Again she was chanting, her eyes partially closed, a slight smile on her face, though he couldn't catch the words. There was a longer negotiation and she spoke this time in Korean. Thank heaven, John thought, she's telling them ... and then she spoke again in English, "_Greater love hath no man, than he would lay down his life for his friends_," and her head went down for the last time. This time John was too stunned to hold his breath with her, but it was obviously much longer than the previous occasions and then he saw the bubbles surface he knew it was hopeless. And still they held her under ... and on and on ... and then the screen went blank.

Sherlock was looking triumphant and John was so close to punching his stupid face.

"She did that for you, you bloody unfeeling moron!" he groaned.

"Oh John, you look but you don't see! Tells us so much, know who's got her now and why. Ransom notes can tell you so much, don't you think?"

"Sometimes I think we're living in different universes, Sherlock - did you not see her die in front of you?"

"Certainly not, John."

"She did that for you, you callous machine!"

"Now that repetitious statement is incorrect in substance - it may well be my _fault_ that she went through that, but she didn't do it for _me_. That was all for you, John. You're the one she's defending here. Put me in danger, put you in danger - it's the same thing to her. But do you really not see? We watch the same events and it still amazes me when you simply don't get it. That's when she got that facial injury that we've already seen. We saw the aftermath of that punch when she called. ... That happened about four or six weeks maybe, before she knew, so nearer the six, maybe even seven if she wasn't eating ... yes, that would fit, face still swollen when we saw her ..."

"She was giving clues, Sherlock - all that muttering ... what did it all mean all that stuff about Lords and forgiveness? and the bible quotes?"

"Oh that wasn't a message - not the kind _you_ mean anyway. She was certain she was about to die. She was saying goodbye - she was okay about dying - and preparing herself for what she believes comes next. That cross she wears? Not there for decoration, John.

"... The interesting thing, of course, is why send that now, why make us think she's dead when her last message was so effective at keeping us away? What do they want me to do? Obviously they know I shan't think she's dead, there's simply no mileage in that! What are they doing?" Sherlock was pacing looking gleeful again, which would be irritating in the best of circumstances, but at a time like this ...


	5. Christmas Comes Early

**Another one for my gals! Especially JAL and Aless - apologies for the cliffhanger and not updating - got caught up with reading and writing my first Sherlock Holmes canon story which is nowhere near ready for public airing.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: ****_Christmas Comes Early_**

Time passed - Sherlock involved me as before in all his cases, but I didn't get the same thrill as I had when we first met from solving other people's cases when my own was so large in my life. Molly tried to set me up on a date - nice person, twice divorced, should have been my type, but there was no chemistry. I know Molly meant well and was trying to cheer me up, but - honestly - how could she! She didn't try again after that abject failure. I didn't have the heart to see anyone else in any case - I'm not sure why I went, keep them quiet I guess. There's no point in my seeing other women - they aren't you!

I started hearing things too and more than once rushed into the living room as I thought I heard your voice. One time I rushed towards the desk to find that Sherlock's laptop was closed and I skidded across the carpet to the window where I believed the singing was coming from. It had stopped by then and I pressed my face against the closed window.

There was a lad leaning against the lamppost below our windows. He was blowing on his hands to keep them warm. Something about him made me keep on looking as he stuffed a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of fags. He lit one with gloved hands, shaking the match out before taking a long drag and breathing the smoke out into the chill air. And then he started to whistle. It was a tune I'd heard before and recently, a song that she'd used to send a message to Sherlock ... I don't know why, but I wanted to talk to that young man and skidded down the stairs and out the front door, to see a pair of heels disappearing at speed around the corner. As fast as I was going, he was faster and had vanished altogether by the time I skidded to a halt realising that I was beaten.

Not a single day went by when I wasn't begging everyone, anyone, to find you, save you if you were still alive that is ... Mycroft said there were agents helping and the intelligence was good that you were now being taken good care of. "Not the Hilton certainly, but she's not being tortured. She's sleeping well and being given sufficient food." He didn't say where, he didn't say why, he didn't say by whom, he didn't give any details.

Sherlock, similarly, didn't pass on much, but said he'd seen you twice since the last communication and you were looking well and had healed from previous wounds. He was unable or unwilling to show any recording he might have made of encounters however and I couldn't help but think that he was keeping something from me about your state of health. Something that would make me want to go and break you out myself - not that I didn't want to every moment of every day, but no one would tell me where you were held and old army contacts were equally unforthcoming. Either it was the best kept military secret or they genuinely didn't know.

It was nearly a year since you've gone - well, eight months and six days, 7 hours and thirty four minutes - since I'd seen your last communication. I wasn't looking forward to Christmas this year, and I was torturing myself with thinking about our last one. I'd taken the photo you'd given me down - eight or nine times as Sherlock just put it back up again. By the day before Christmas Eve I was in such a fug that Sherlock was losing patience again and wanted to know why I'd not bought a '_bloody tree_' into the house this year. I could feel a row brewing ...

And then a woman arrived at our rooms that afternoon carrying a sleeping baby. It was obvious from first sight that this was not her child as she had definite Arabic features and the baby had a fair complexion with little ringlets of fair hair poking out from under its woolly hat.

"His mother said it was too dangerous for the baby to remain in her care," the woman said so softy that I could barely hear her, but I detected a slight American accent in her husky tones. I leant towards her, over the sleeping baby as she continued, "It is not likely she will be returning herself any time soon. She said I should prepare you for the fact that it is unlikely at all."

She put the car seat that he was sleeping in down on the carpet in front of me. "She said that the child would be safe here with you gentlemen." She held out a calling card, which I failed to take from her and I was just aware of Sherlock leaning around my shoulder to take it from her. And then she stepped backwards and sat down heavily on the chair behind her as if weary of her burdens.

He - he was a boy I found later - was cleanly and smartly dressed and was obviously well looked after. It's what came next that fills me still with excitement and not a little abject misery too at the time.

We were told that his mother had turned up at her hotel in Istanbul and insisted that she take the baby to 221B Baker Street to a Dr John Watson and a Mr Sherlock Holmes and to introduce him as Sherlock John Watson. And in that instant I looked closer and I could see your nose, your hair in little Sherlock - and maybe a little of his father too, though it's hard to see yourself in your own children.

I was aware at that point of a tapping noise, and turned to see Sherlock Googling. Honestly that man has no sense of occasion or timing. He turned the screen round to face her and she nodded once, curtly. I caught a glimpse of the site he'd found; a small, top of the range family hotel surrounded by bright blue sky and palm trees in front. I pulled the MacBook towards me and could see a family stood outside smiling welcomingly, the hotelier to one side, with her arm around a man who was presumably her husband.

"Is that where she is? Was she staying there?" I demanded, my hand reaching towards here pleadingly. She gave another curt movement of her head, this time in the negative.

"She stayed long enough to explain what she wanted, make her payments and then she left hurriedly with two gentlemen who seemed most insistent that she did not speak to us for longer than was strictly necessary." She shook her head, this time slowly and contemplatively. "She was a sad lady," she informed me, looking deeply into me eyes as she spoke, as if to ensure I understand the implications of what she was saying.

"She was most insistent that the baby must be given only to you." She brought my attention back to the sleeping child with a wave of her hand.

He came accompanied by this note:

_My darling John - I would say not to read this where Sherlock (big as opposed to little - the latter to my certain knowledge cannot read yet) can see. He'll work it all out himself so there's no point, my love._

_I expect by now you'll have realised that little Sherlock is our baby - yours and mine - conceived by honest mistake at a time that I shall not need to remind you of, I trust. Apparently some men can bring on ovulation - who knew!? Anyway, here he is and there are no regrets whatever on my part. I hope that you can forgive me._

_Something came up and I made the choice to jump out of the fire when it came ... I'm safe and well cared for here, though I am unable to be with you both - one day it will become unsafe for Sherlock to remain with me and I took what chances I could to get him away from here at the earliest opportunity. I know that you will make sure he is well looked after. Don't do it on your own - your work is important still and Sherlock needs you - both of them. We have more friends than you can imagine - use them, they will be thrilled. List enclosed._

_Don't come looking for me - if it is possible for me to get away then I shall - but it is too risky for all of us for you to try anything - I've survived too much to die now because you tread on toes. No revenge John, no matter what happens - little Sherlock needs at least one parent - and look how revenge has ended up for me._

_Oh, and I am so sorry about the name - poor little mite will suffer for that at school. At least his Godfather will be able to tell him exactly how that went for him._

_Look after our boys - both our Sherlocks. I love and miss you all - not least you, my John - and hope that one day we'll all be back together._

As always there was no signature and I know that it was that moment when the reality of the situation hit me and I was doubly sure that the note was written by you.

I sat down heavily on the sofa, just as the hotelier had, the paper dropping from my hand. I was aware of Sherlock, who'd been hovering nearby, picking it up and scanning more quickly than I had over what you had written.

He sighed deeply and crouched next to me, putting a hand on mine.

All this time little Sherlock had been sleeping but chose that very moment to open his eyes and seemed to be looking straight into my soul. And there you were - no mistake that this was your son. Something switched on in me and I picked him up - holding our son for the first time. I brought my feet up onto the sofa so that he could lie along my knees, sitting up supported, looking at me, and me at him. The first time I felt anywhere near happy since your disappearance.

The hotelier had little to tell us. She had described you so well that there was no doubt that it was actually you who had given our son to her. And then she left me a memory stick and a birth certificate naming me as father, then a small paper folder and a case to Sherlock, with instructions that neither of us was to show anything to each other until we had looked at it all ourselves first. You were most insistent on this apparently. I can see why now, but at the time it was hard not to know everything all at once.

Sherlock was unusually considerate to the hotelier and offered to pay her expenses and more. She politely declined and said that it had all been paid for in advance and that she was confident that the promised extra payment would be in her bank account on her return. She did take one of Sherlock's cards in case there were any difficulties with this, however.

Sherlock had seemed polite but guarded while she was with us, answering questions, giving details ... once she'd left however he became more animated and practically danced around the room. And then he calmed all of a sudden and came shyly over -

"Can I hold my godson?" he asked in an awed whisper.


	6. The Switch

**Chapter 6: ****_The Switch_**

"I could have just taken some hair from the bathroom plughole!" Sherlock was chiding.

I gave him a look that would have been enough to make most people back off, but not him - "It's a simple test - it'll just tell you what you already know - what we already know - but it needs to be done - she told me to do it, and she said you'd kick up a ruddy fuss! It doesn't mean you don't trust her, it doesn't mean you don't accept him as being your son, it's just a scientific exercise that -"

"Then why is it necessary? - we've been through this Sherlock - it doesn't need to be done as I already know how it'll turn out - I don't need a test or a form to tell me Sherlock is mine - I know!"

Little Sherlock had been with us for less than a month and Sherlock had been nagging me to get the test done for several days now, trying to wear me down. He was right, he could have taken the test without my knowing even, he knew enough people prepared to carry it out for him without parental permission, if you even need that these days. He seemed determined that I would be the one to give the go ahead.

We'd had the same conversation, the same fight several times over the past few days and likely would the next few, so what happened next was less of a weird coincidence than it seemed at the time.

Sherlock's text alert went off and it was obvious from his face that something monumental had just been communicated.

"She's back!"

"Who?" My voice was a croak, my mouth suddenly dry, fearing the answer wasn't the one answer that I needed - what if he meant Irene Adler.

"Come on John, you need to be the one to meet her - let's get going. My Godson will be fine with Mrs Hudson a while longer." He grabbed a case and we were out the door before I could put my jacket on.

Mycroft's car was waiting outside.

"Oh no, not now ... why can't you bloody people phone and make an appointment like anyone else ... we have lives, we do other stuff ... really inconvenient this time ... go away ...not doing it, not getting in that car ... not this time -" I just managed to say before Sherlock was bundling me into the back of the car and pushing his own way in.

I was stuck in the middle between him and the glamorous woman, the one who says she's Andrea as if it's a well known lie. She seems to spend her whole time staring at a smart phone, clicking buttons - in idle moments I wonder if she's really playing a never ending game of space invaders, or Sonic the Hedgehog. She certainly didn't do anything practical with those manicured nails ... I hardly heard her string a full sentence together, so I wonder if anything's much more than games is happening in her head.

No one was keen to tell me what was going on - I felt even more like a school boy than usual - stuck in the back with a couple of older kids that thought I was too uncool to speak to.

"Sherlock, what's going on! What's bloody well going on!"

Sherlock was busy on his phone too and sushed me - more and more a adolescent nightmare. If I was naked then it'd be a classic worthy of the psychiatrist's chair and weeks of therapy.

It was possibly the longest journey of my life but finally we pulled into an airfield in the middle of - well I'd say it would have to have been nowhere - I'd been distracted and it was so dark by then, that I'd no idea where we'd got to.

Sherlock manhandled me out of the car, still protesting, and then there was a sight that stilled all my protests - you were standing, facing right towards me, between two huge guys who were holding you by an arm each. It reminded me of the time I'd walked into the warehouse where Moriarty had you at gunpoint. It's a wonder my heart didn't stop beating then and there. Your hands appeared to be tied or cuffed behind your back but you were stood upright and seemed unharmed. And then you looked over and your eyes came to life - and my heart exploded in my chest.

But it wasn't to me that you first spoke - "Sherlock! Don't do it, I'm not worth it, honestly. _Please_ don't, there are other ways and I'm fine, really I am ... just a matter of time, they couldn't have held me much longer ..."

One of the men jerked you by the arm and hissed something I couldn't catch. And you stopped speaking. One thing I noticed was neither man was Korean, they looked Western, and one was at least six foot four, towering over you, and was fair haired.

I'd been so intent on looking at you that I'd not noticed that Sherlock was walking across the tarmac towards you carrying the case he'd picked up from our room. It was only then that I recognised it as the case that you'd sent to him when little Sherlock came to us.

He got half way and stopped. "Send her over, or I shan't take another step!"

The two heavies seemed to be consulting and then looked over towards the plane. I think I just detected a movement from there, but it was hard to tell at that distance and with such poor light. And then they released you and you took a hesitant step forward.

Sherlock took one too and you stopped. "Sherlock, no!"

"I shall come over whatever you do," he said, "so you might as well - John's waiting, little Sherlock is with Mrs Hudson - he needs his mother!" and then he strode forward purposefully. And she came more hesitantly in the other direction. They exchanged glances as they passed - hers pensive, his what passed, from Sherlock, as a reassuring smile. It reminded me of watching the pasa doble, with the dancers weaving around each other, keeping eye contact.

Then he turned towards me, "Don't take a single step nearer, John," he warned, "they have as many snipers trained on us as we do on them." I wondered if that had been aimed at the heavies as much as me. They certainly tensed when he spoke and looked around the airfield distractedly.

Oh Sherlock, what are you doing! I'd do anything, _anything_ to get her back - but this was going to bring on a guilt trip that even years of therapy wouldn't sort out. Wishing to get my future wife back in exchange for my best friend.

She was nearly level with me, so close to being in my arms that I could feel her and for a moment I thought it would be worth it if Sherlock didn't come back with us. But I didn't need to worry. He delivered the case, which was opened, examined and then Sherlock turned on his heels and followed her off the airfield and arrived back with us at the end of our first kiss. A kiss where neither participant closed their eyes, both straining to see what was happening with their friend, walking back towards them.

"It's ok John, would have been worth the switch - even I think so ..." Now how did he know that's exactly what I'd been thinking moments before.

She was grinning - "Oh, Sherlock! If you knew what I'd gone through to get that out - you'd have given yourself up instead!"

"I wouldn't worry, the CIA will treat it with due deference and I've kept the really interesting parts myself - so nothing lost."

"So, did you find it?" she asked Sherlock after a short pause, during which Sherlock had been looking smug. Sherlock looked even more triumphant ... "Hand it over then!" she said, holding her hand out, her eyes gleaming. And Sherlock could not have surprised me more, and her less, when he reached into an inside pocket and held up a ring, placing it in her hand. _Could that really have been why she risked her life to tell Sherlock where she'd been when she threw my ring out of the window - just to get it back again? Wow!_

"Please John - I'll say yes all over again if you'll put this back where it belongs."

I didn't need asking twice and slipped the little engagement ring on her hand saying, "How many weeks do they read the banns for? 'Cos the moment we can, you're becoming Mrs Watson, so I can keep an eye on you!"

And then she threw her arms around both our waists as we walked back to the car saying, "So - how are my boys?"

_**So now you know how I got my life back and how a switch was thrown in my head and in my heart that enabled me to start living again.**_

* * *

What I'd like to know, is how are the CIA involved and why had they detained you?

And what on earth had you smuggled to Sherlock and why did they want it?

Ok, not just all that - I'd also like to know what on earth's going on ... generally ... and why do I never know what you two are up to in front of my nose?

Why do you always seem to know what the other is thinking?

Why am I here?

But mostly - what!?

* * *

**I like to think that John stands for most of us, the ordinary, but not dull, people who follow in Sherlock's wake wondering what on earth he's talking about and how does he know what he knows. John's our narrator, filtering Sherlockisms and filling in the blanks in language we can understand. **

**He doesn't always know what his best friend is up to and now Sherlock has a female counterpart, not the genius that Sherlock is but smart enough to get Sherlock even more than John does. She's less accepting of him, more critical and more able to keep up with Sherlock even when she's a couple of stages behind his reasoning. She's also capable of being as childish and immature as Sherlock, but then she is much younger, so there's hope for her. Gotta feel sorry for John with the two of them around!**


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**_**: Testing Times**_

_**This is the Epilogue but don't expect to find all the answers here. John isn't always in the loop and sometimes he simply has no idea what on earth is going on even after it's been explained to him. Half the time the two adults he loves most in the world are completely oblivious to how confused he is and they both believe they share everything possible with him. As often as not, when he asks them they looked surprised and start the story so far from the start that it really doesn't help. They assume he knows things and people that he couldn't possibly know.**_

* * *

I really should first describe here the reunion between mother and first born son. I can't communicate the level of emotion that was in that moment but I can tell you a little of what was said and done and you can fill in the gaps.

We arrived back at Baker Street to find Mrs Hudson stood in the street with our son wrapped tightly in a blanket and with the same little woolly hat he was wearing when he arrived at Baker Street, pulled down to his eyebrows. I suspect that Sherlock had texted ahead to give our expected time of arrival as Mrs Hudson wasn't wearing a coat and wasn't yet shivering in the nighttime chill.

My fiancée, who can be one of the most boisterous of people, almost tiptoed across the pavement towards him. Mother and son smiled at each other and I swear that Little Sherlock would have put his arms out to embrace her if he could.

"Hello, my little Cherub," she murmured, taking him from Mrs Hudson and burying her nose into his neck.

Poor Sherlock, the elder, must be coming down with something, as he's looking rather red eyed and he really should carry a handkerchief with such a dreadfully runny nose.

You'd think that our first time together for such a long time we would want to be more physical, but sometimes it's more important just to be. We spent that first evening, or nighttime, by the time we arrived back at our rooms, sitting together, all four of us, talking in hushed whispers so as not to wake the sleeping baby Sherlock. His godfather was tolerating our proximity to each other - she had her legs arched over my thighs and I was holding one of her feet in a proprietorial manner - but barely. He was unable to contain his irritation, however, when we lost concentration on what he saw as an important point, or I started absentmindedly massaging her foot.

"So why do you think they sent out that second broadcast?" she asked with a puzzled expression when we explained the order of events at our end. "I cannot think what they were trying to achieve."

Sherlock steepled his hands in concentration. "I've been giving that some thought. Did you take a good look at the man with the English accent who was present during your '_baptism_'?"

She grimaced slightly, presumably at Sherlock's choice of words and nodded. I could see the telltale line between her eyebrows deepen. Sherlock appeared oblivious and asked whether she knew who he was.

A shake this time. "Though I've seen him before. Years ago when I was in Italy, trying to find out what had happened to my parents." She twiddled with a lock of her hair before continuing, "I saw him talking to a man who claimed to be a CIA agent and then later in Albania handing something to a high ranking member of the Fifteen Families network who I was tailing. I didn't like the look of him then and I wasn't happy to see him at what you so cheerfully call my '_baptism_'."

"If I'm right", continued Sherlock, ignoring the comments not directly associated with the case in hand, "then he's currently one of the most vicious and dangerous men in the criminal fraternity. You're right not to trust him."

Sherlock poured himself another glass of the fine old malt that we had been given as a thank you present by the Yard for help on a recent case for which, as often is the case, we took no credit. Sherlock ignored us both holding our empty glasses out towards him as he continued, "And if I'm right then his main, and perhaps his only, reason to send that was to let me know he's still at large and can get to my friends."

He refused to elaborate and I wonder if that had something to do with losing face as he wasn't sure of all the facts yet. Doubtless we'll find out when he's ready to share or it's all over and there's nothing we could to help.

There was a long pause during which time we refilled our own glasses after wrestling the bottle away from Sherlock's tight grip. Honestly, that man can be so childish sometimes.

I'd not asked her about her ordeal. I figured that she'd tell me when she was ready and thought I'd give her space to do so. That evening we stuck to the events that Sherlock and I had already witnessed or anything that explained her movements and eventual release.

"You must be wondering why I was back home during the first broadcast you received," she said to my '_yes_' and Sherlock's '_not really_'.

She smiled and looked at Sherlock offering him the chance to show off again. "Be my guest!"

"Well presumably that was the time of your first escape and you'd returned home to find a piece of evidence that would help you get them off your back, so to speak, or to hide it better."

"Not bad," she admitted. "I'd certainly escaped, but it was the second time, the first I got no further than South Korea before they caught up with me. Trusted the wrong people, but then you learn more from your mistakes than your triumphs - you should try it sometime, Sherlock." She shifted her stance and gave me what looked like an apologetic glance.

"Ah, yes, _second_. I must speak to my intelligence in South Korea and ask why their report was reversed."

I'd opened my mouth on several occasions as they spoke and finally voiced my concern. "You'd escaped, not once but _twice_ - when was anyone thinking of telling _me_?" They both looked at me with varying degrees of concern and contrition - loads from her, none from Sherlock. "And did you come back to Baker Street when I was losing the plot?"

She started singing softy and I recognised the tune, if not the words:  
'_You've been up all night, and the night before_  
_You've lost count of drinks and time_  
_And your friends keep calling, worried sick_  
_There's strangers everywhere -_'

"Sherlock called me. You were in a terrible state, John, and it was worth the risk for just that one night. You were in too much of a bad state to realise I was there, though Sherlock thought it helped and it was better if you weren't told. He was right. I couldn't risk staying; they could have caught up with me at any time."

I gulped. She'd really been there and I'd not known. "Hang on, I've just remembered something else you said, you told me that I smelt bad!"

She grimaced and steeled herself to say, "Well you did, John. Not the most romantic thing to say, but it was true."

"How did you get there so quick?" I asked shaking slightly.

"Well. Surrey often feels like the back of beyond, but the public transport systems are pretty good really-"

"_Surrey_?" I asked, more horrified than ever at their concealing things from me.

"Mycroft has a house-" she broke off, looking at me with concern. The pain of the separation was flooding over me and to learn that she had been living down the road virtually all that time ...

"And you didn't visit me, or speak to me once! Oh grief! And you went to your flat instead of home when you escaped that time - called that 'home' and not where I am-"

"I'm sorry John, my plan had been very different when I went to send that message to you. There were two main reasons I went straight home. To put them off the scent of where I'd hidden the Hammond Diaries - horribly corny, but you'll find them in British Rail's lost property office, Sherlock. I'd have gone for a locker, I liked the Hitchcockian simplicity, but with all the bomb scares over the years they don't have too many of those left in the capital and left luggage is extortionate these days.

"More importantly I wanted to get a message to you, John, to say I was still alive and not to risk your life trying to save me. I couldn't go to Baker Street and risk them turning up there and then I'd wasted too much time plastering on all that makeup to hide my bruises and they caught up with me before I'd even got onto Skype. For some reason they wanted you to think that I was somewhere abroad and they went to a lot of trouble rigging up a screen outside the window with some pyrotechnics going off."

"Oh yes, very convincing, or at least it would have been if the individual flashes didn't exactly coincide with the 10 o'clock news coverage of the Iraq conflict in 2010." Sherlock looked smug. "But then again, I don't think they were trying to fool me, despite all the trouble they went to." He gestured for her to continue.

She was looking anxious again, "And I visited when I could, just to catch a glimpse of you. Remember the whistling youth outside the window?"

"You?" I was impressed, she'd looked just like any lanky street hoody about to smash a window, scare an old lady or spray graffiti on the walls. Sorry to be harsh about hoodies, but one did once get me a day in court and a heavy fine, so I don't feel much like hugging them, thanks anyway, David Cameron!

"Not much else to say really. I got some inside help to get away from North Korea. Seems my little act during my '_baptism_' impressed a few people and a convert was made as a bonus." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes, so I wondered what she wasn't saying about that.

Sherlock changed the subject before I could ask more and there was plenty of time for that later. "So, where did you dig up the bogus hotelier then? She's not CIA."

She laughed. "That's Judi, used to be a communicant in my father's parish. Does AmDram and also a whizz with website design - woman of many talents. Changed her name from Jud to Judi when she converted to Christianity. It's a bit risky as it's a name of a mountain in the Qur'an. Not sure if it counts as blasphemy or not. My father got her out of a nasty situation with a Rushtie style fatwa, though, for publishing something critical of the regime and that's how she came to be living in England. She's ok is Judi, though I do wish she'd have more respect for Muslims of faith. It's the fundamentalists who're the dangerous ones, of any religion. I know Christian sects who are just as dangerous as any Muslim terrorist cell."

I don't know which of us fell asleep first, but I must have succumbed just after the sun had come up as I remember hearing the dawn chorus in a semi-stupor. I woke to find that both Sherlocks had gone and she had snuggled up to me and we were half lying on the sofa with our arms around each other and someone had placed a blanket over us. I expect that Mrs Hudson has come to check on us and taken little Sherlock when he woke.

I lay there for as long as possible without moving to preserve the moment and it took me a while to realise that she was actually awake, and probably had been for some time, doing the same. I cannot think of anything more perfect than waking up with the woman you love and knowing that she is safe for the first time in a long time. Maybe sitting on the floor eating bacon butties with the woman you love - that comes a close second anyway.

* * *

We spent the day together and then met with Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly, one of my fiancee's many brothers, Harry and that weird niece with the tattoos for a take-out dinner back at Baker Street. Neither of us wanted to go anywhere public yet but we wanted to be with our friends. Seems that the weird niece and Harry know each other. I do wonder if everyone in my life has a secret AU where they go to talk about me. They do seem to know way too much.

When they had all left, it was the four of us again; little Sherlock sitting propped up on his godfather's knee and cooing.

"Did you get the DNA tests done?"

"Yes, day he arrived," answered Sherlock simultaneously to my 'No!'

_What_!?

"Obviously fine - he's not inherited anything you have to worry about. Your blood test was negative too, btw - no worries about future generations of Watsons - not from your side anyway," he said, giving me a slit-eyed look.

"Phew! - Huntingdon's in my mother's family, John; she was a carrier. Didn't get tested earlier, never seemed necessary when I was growing up, didn't really want to know, was sure I didn't have it, but wasn't sure if I were a carrier too - obviously I'd have got tested if I'd thought there was any danger of passing it on. Seemed a bit previous at the time ...

"Didn't want you to worry, so I asked Sherlock to get the tests done when he checked paternity - he's more cautious than you are, have to say, best to check - baby could have been a bomb after all, or had slow release poison that leached out every time you changed a nappy ..."

I love having her home, but sometimes the combination of the two of them together is a little much ... his duplicity and her inability to be serious about anything. And then there's the confusion, not for them, just me.

Oh, and if you're wondering about the contents of that case - well so am I - if you find out then please let me know. My best guess from little pieces of conversation I've eavesdropped, is that the North Koreans were developing some nasty chemical warfare and Sherlock handed it over - or at least some of it - to the CIA to implement the exchange.

All Sherlock will say is, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.' I have to say that he's a brilliant actor, Sherlock, he really looks as if he means it.

As for why she was detained - seems the CIA did a deal with the North Koreans so that they could prosecute her for industrial espionage and all the mysterious deaths that seem to follow her about. They do tell me some things. She and Sherlock are a little hazy on the details though, but I'm used now to being in a perpetual state of confusion around them. It's great to be loved, but once in a while I'd like to have sight of the manual that they are living their lives by so I can get a modicum of control back in my life.

* * *

**This chapter, as is the whole story, is dedicated to my mate JAL**

**All: MP me for any Brit-speak that doesn't translate or generally any mistakes, nonsense, etc that you spot. All criticism appreciated.**


	8. Aftermath

**And do you ever blame John for what happened to you?**

_Sometimes ... a little - sometimes ... a lot ..._

**It's okay to have those feelings. After what happened, it would be very unusual not to feel that way. You had three broken ribs and a badly broken toe that means you won't be able to dance on pointe again ...**

_... fractured, they say fractured these days, not broken and it was a compound fracture of the fifth medial metatarsal on my left foot ..._

**And using clinical words makes it more acceptable, something that you can cope with more easily?**

_Well, at least that one's better than 'and how do you feel about that!' You know I'm just deviating off the point (pointe - ha!), but it all comes back to the same thing._

**And what would that be?**

_Whether love and God were enough. Did it help, or did it hinder? If not for those I'd have given up and could have just died and put a stop to all the pain and humiliation._

**And is that something that you wanted to do at the time? Maybe that you want to do now?**

_Of course ... blessed relief as they say ... I felt the most peaceful when I truly believed that I was about to die .. the first time my head was under water, I was flooded by a calmness ... do you know? and I was completely certain I was going to die that day and that was okay, that was more than ok, I was actually looking forward to it - I even said my goodbyes ... And that's before they really started to hurt me, before the physical torture, before ... before the other stuff ..._

_... but I never had a Julia moment._

**And that's the character from the novel that you mentioned before?**

_Yes, and don't pretend you don't know Orwell's finest ... I never said 'do it to Julia'. I'm not sure if that makes me unusual, braver than most, or just kidding myself. I did feel God's presence though - not quite Shadrach and friends, walking into the fiery furnace - I did get burnt rather badly after all. But I came through eventually. I always felt that my angel was watching over me ... protecting my soul at least, if not my body ... like I could decide at any moment, that's enough, and I'd be led on ... end of pain ... It's an odd sensation ... and I never felt that there was anything lacking at the time, that it should be doing more ... should be stopping things from happening to me ... it would all be fine as long as I didn't give in to them or betray my friends ... love and heaven were enough ..._

**You stopped me before I could mention the more serious injuries - the loss of a kidney and one of your ovaries ... internal tearing that means you can never have a natural birth again ...**

_You're pushing for something ... usually I can't induce you to say more three words together, or one of your stock phrases - what gives?_

**You made a great break through in our last session and earlier today. I believe that you'll soon be ready now for the next step. When you are ready, with support of course, I believe that it would be beneficial for you to tell John what you've told me then and today. And the rest - your fears for your future together and what you were saying about tying yourself to him with guilt.**

_He'd be better off without me. The woman he fell for doesn't exist anymore - not physically and not emotionally. I'm broken and best discarded. It's unfair to hang on to something that could have been ... doesn't exist anymore ..._

**Don't you think he has a right to make that decision? Don't you think you're doing him a great injustice to think he'd actually be relieved if you left him?**

_No - he's the most moral person I know and would kid himself that the most noble thing to do is the what he actually wants, what's best for him too. I think I can step back a little and see what's really best for him ... best for our son. I'm not helping either of them. I'm not going to drag them down with me. _

**We're nearly out of time. I want you to consider inviting John to one of our sessions - not right away, but sometime in the near future and telling him what you've told me. Please, think about it ... we'll discuss it next time ...**


	9. Cathartis

**John, thank you for joining us. I wasn't expecting you so soon, but you are most welcome. Do you know why I suggested that you should attend a session?**

Not really. But I do know there's a lot of things that haven't been said that need to be. A lot of guilt and pain ... I know I've caused a lot ... I ... oh please ... I can't stand ... just tell me it's all my fault! I know it is ... I can take it ...

**John, I think you should stop and listen for a moment.**  
**Would you like to tell John some of what you've told me last session?**

_I haven't got words ... I ... oh God help me! ... I've been fantasising about going ... leaving them ..._

**Tell John, it's him who needs to know ...**

_Ok ... John ... I've been thinking about leaving you ... and little Sherlock ... I think it's for the best, I need to just go ... it's not working out ... not how I hoped ... felt so right being back with you again ... but not now, it's not ... I need to ... oh, God! ..._

No! Why? Do you mean for a while, or are we talking forever ... I shan't ... I won't ... oh please, no ... just let me ...

_John stop it! Just stop it! I'm all broken inside and it's not working, I can't do this ... I can't ... I'm not good for you ... either of you ... there's nothing left of what I was ... it's snapped ... and the effort to pretend, to keep it together for you ... for you both ... it's too much ... I just want to go ... I want the pain to end ... I need to go ... I need the pain to stop, John ..._

Oh my God - you're talking about ... oh no, and you want my permission ... my blessing ... to ... oh no, never ... never that ... we can work this out ... we just need time ... we need time ... When I came back from Afghanistan I thought nothing would ever be the same, and it isn't, but it's okay, life's okay again now ... it's different, but it's okay now ... we've got each other and more than enough love ... oh please no, don't break my heart again ... I can't ... that would be the end ... please no!

_I blame you - I don't mean to, I know it's not fair ... but I do ... sometimes ... and the rage takes over ... I don't want to hate you, but sometimes ... it's on the edge ... not for what they did, not for anything you did or didn't do, but for not allowing me to ... allowing me to stop it ... and the pain is too much ... it's too much John!_

_I can't lose that feeling completely - that pure feeling of love ... it's more painful than anything they did to me ... they never broke my spirit, but they have surely broken anything pure, anything perfect we had ... It's like a cancer spreading and I want it to stop before I lose everything ..._

I ... what about me! What about little Sherlock ... what about _our_ pain, _our_ anguish? Don't you think we have a say in this? Hate me! Blame me! I can take it! But I can't take losing you again ... don't ask me to do that again! I'm begging you!

**_And then she was screaming, shouting about all her fears, the pain and blaming, blaming him for not letting her go in peace, for still being alive when it all she wanted was to die ... and he sat and took it all, never once looking away nor crumpling in a heap, or accusing her in return, not even defending himself ..._**

**_And then something seemed to snap in her - she buckled up and howled like a wild animal - it was the most extraordinary noise - completely uncontrolled and bestial. And he held her while she let out her anguish and cried out with great big, snotty tears. And she finally stopped - panting in his arms. Her therapist was smiling as she leant forwards to hand her a tissue. And then she did the most extraordinary thing and threw her head back and roared with laughter - _**

_Oh that's perfect - you are a scream! she said shaking her head in disbelief. Well blow me down! That really does feel better - better out than in - who'd a thought a bloody psychiatrist would actually get it right - actually do some real good ... thanks, Doc!_


End file.
